


Making do

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forgiveness. It sounds like a Hallmark card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making do

## Making do

by silvina

Standard Disclaimer. I'm too asleep to come up with a witty disclaimer. Time for a nap. Please send comments, questions, compliments, and otters to sdelcul@yahoo.com.

* * *

If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance. \--George Bernard Shaw 

"Sure Mr. Ellison. I'll let him know you called, and see if he's free." He heard Blair as his keys headed for the door, but hesitated until Blair hung up, not wanting to have to speak to his father. 

"Hey Jim, how was your day? Mine was long and boring, except when Cathy spilled coffee in my lap and almost killed the family jewels but thank god I was wearing jeans, and I saw Jason kissing Dr. Jenkins, which is wrong because he's married to Susie in Psychology, and I don't know whether to tell her or not, and your father called." 

Then Jim found himself being kissed hello, and I love you, and welcome back, and probably several other things. "I know." 

"What?" 

"I know my father called. I heard when I got to the door." He trudged up the stairs wearily. 

"So why didn't you say anything?" Blair followed him up the stairs, grinning wildly when he pulled his shirt and undershirt off. 

He shrugged. "I didn't want to talk to him. What did he want?" 

"He wanted to invite us over for dinner on Thursday. It's his birthday, remember?" 

"I remember." Turning his back, he went down the stairs and grabbed a soda from the fridge. 

"Well?" Blair had followed him. Of course. 

"Well what?" 

"Can you go?" 

"Don't you mean we?" 

"No, I'm going. Whether you go is up to you. He's trying, and he handled finding out about you and me remarkably well for a man raised during his era. The only question is whether you're willing to try just as hard." 

"So what are you saying. Chief? That I should just forgive and forget?" 

"No, I'm saying you have to forgive yourself." 

"Forgive myself for what?" 

"Not being a good son." 

He raged. There was no other word for it. "A good son? What the hell? I turned myself inside out to be what he wanted but it didn't matter. He didn't care! So don't you dare sit there and tell me I wasn't a good son." He realized that even though he had Blair pushed up against the wall and his fist was poised to strike Blair wasn't afraid. His heartbeat was slow and regular. 

When Blair replied it was in his soft voice, the one that made Jim feel safe. "Exactly. But all that anger isn't at him or for what he did to you. You're mad at yourself because you didn't measure up." 

"Steven measured up." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean he was always dad's favorite. Probably because he wasn't a freak." 

Blair didn't interrupt, but he coaxed Jim into letting him down and following him to the couch where he wrapped himself around Jim. 

"I could hear things, you know?" 

"The senses?" 

"Yeah. And I kept trying to tell him. Like when the next door neighbors would be yelling at each other and they were always screaming and yelling and always fighting. It surprised me because everybody thought they really loved each other. I was about ten or eleven, I think. I remember trying to tell him because I thought he could maybe do something about it. You know, make them stop?" 

"What happened?" 

Jim shrugged casually. "He told me to stop telling stories. That there was no way that I could hear what was going on and that I shouldn't lie. Pretty much anytime I tried to tell him something because of my senses he said that I was lying and after a while I think he really thought I was. He never trusted me after all of that. It made it easier for him to believe that I was lying when Steven said that I damaged the car. And that's when I left." 

"How come?" 

"I got tired of never being trusted. I was supposed to start college and I just couldn't imagine being away from him and then having to come back every time there was a break. I wanted to leave, so I just left. It took a day or two before I realized that I couldn't do it all on my own. So I joined the army. Realized that I was good at it. Didn't really look back after that. Figured that if anyone really wanted to find me, they could do it easy." 

"Except for the Special Ops stuff." Blair said with a quirky grin. "That's on a need to know basis, and civilians --" 

"--don't need to know," they finished together, laughing. Blair didn't flinch when Jim's laughter became a hint hysterical, and the tears forming in his eyes weren't from laughing too hard. 

When he finished laughing/crying, he slumped exhaustedly. Blair murmured something in his ear and stood up. By the time his brain let him know what Blair was saying, he was back and the loft was blessedly dark and quiet. 

Blair curled up behind him so he was safe between the back of the couch and his guide's warm body. It was a tight fit, which should have been uncomfortable but wasn't. 

"You have to forgive yourself first, Jim." Blair petted him until he fell asleep. 

* * *

End Making do by silvina: sdelcul@yahoo.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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